


Spirit

by Bronx



Category: Rammstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronx/pseuds/Bronx
Summary: Paul loses his friend and manages to figure out who the killer is, albeit involountarily.This was never really supposed to be more than one chapter, but after upset (and loving) responses from my friends, this got a continuation. Also extra kudos to Miyou who helped me bring this to life. Thanks.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> As this was never meant to continue, i apologize if the chapters don't fully fit together.

Paul raised an eyebrow at the sound of knocking on his door. It was rare someone came around here at this hour. Most people were sleeping by now. Still, Paul wasn't. He liked being up at his hour, often finding it easier to think and create in the calmness. 

Putting the guitar in his lap aside, Paul then got up and answered the door, finding his good friend and fellow guitarist on the other side. 

Richard was dressed like he'd spent the night out in Berlin, which Paul assumed he had been. After all, it was Saturday. 

"Hey there Paulie. Did I wake you?" 

Paul smiled at the other. They both knew that both of them would be awake at this time of the night. 

"Nah, you're good. Wanna come inside?" 

Reesh hummed, and they both went inside, the black-haired man calmly sitting down in the couch next to Paul's guitar, sneaking a peek at the messy notes laying on the coffee table. 

Paul took a detour to the kitchen first, then joining his friend in the living room with a beer in each hand. 

He put them both down on the coffee table, where Richard was still reading the notes. 

"What are you working on?" 

"Just a few bits here and there. We'll see what comes out of it" 

Paul shrugged. He hadn't worked too hard on those ones and they were still only ideas to him. 

Richard hummed quietly as he imagined the melodies would be, from what was scribbled down with Paul's messy handwriting. 

"Sounds promising" 

He said finally, after looking through all and humming to himself. 

"You should put this in a song." 

Richard leaned back into the couch, putting one leg up on the other. Paul, too, leaned back, taking a sip from one of the beers. 

He couldn't help but wonder why Reesh had come here just like that, but he knew that sometimes the man just needed company, and Paul was happy to help. He enjoyed the company of his friend, no matter the time. 

Their conversation started with the melodies Paul had scribbled down, and kept going for a good while, almost an hour. They were both discussing how to evolve the notes and let them grow. It was one of those conversations only two musicians could have, understand and appreciate. 

That, until they were interrupted by Paul's phone going off. Richard paused what he was saying, his attention now directed at the phone. 

"You should pick that up, Paulie. We can work more another time." 

The phrasing seemed odd, but Paul didn't think more about it then and there. 

Picking up the phone, he was met with something that worried him. Sobs. 

"Hello...?" 

It was a moment of silence between the both ends, before the man at the other end spoke. It was Till. 

"Paul.. I-... Richard is dead." 

Paul's blood froze. The tone Till had in his voice spoke clearly - this wasn't a joke. Besides, neither of them would ever pull a joke like that. 

Still with blood running cold through his veins, Paul looked over to Richard - only to find the man was gone. 

The open floor-plan told him that Richard wasn't even in the apartment. The man seemed to have vanished out of thin air. 

Was... had he been sitting with...? For the last hour, and not noticed anything...? 

"Holy fuck..."


	2. Clarity

Paul felt like he had to peel himself off of the couch as he woke up the following morning. His entire body felt like it had been hit by a truck, and then been crushed under a steamroller. But he had just lost his best friend yesterday. 

With heavy limbs, he got out of the couch, forcing himself to walk to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, and downing it as quick as it had been poured. Paul leaned against the kitchen counter, putting the glass on the bench and letting his newly freed hand comb through his messy hair. He would’ve given everything to make yesterday's events a bad dream, to have his friend back. Unfortunately, that was impossible. Richard was gone and there was nothing anyone could do. 

With a groan, he then stood up straight and headed for the shower. However badly he just wanted to crawl up in his bed never to be seen again, he’d promised to go with Till to the morgue, for some bloody reason. He was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to see was Richard like that. Ideally, he would've liked to keep his memories of the living, breathing Richard, and not to soil them with whatever was in that morgue. Still, he couldn’t let Till down now. 

An hour later, Paul found himself in that goddamn freezing room, standing almost behind Till, as the lady pulled out the body into the middle of the room. The lady gently lifted the white sheet off of what was left of their friend, lowering it to his shoulders. 

Paul’s heart, if possible, sank even lower as he saw his friend. Somehow, now it became all too real. Paul froze up, his eyes locked onto Richard’s pale face. He didn’t even look peaceful, Paul thought. Might have been because of the large gash in his forehead. Paul guessed they were the exit wounds of the bullets. Till said he’d been shot from the backseat of the car he was driving. Paul didn’t want to picture it but his brain did it anyway. 

That’s when he realized. Richard had been borrowing his car. What if...? What if this wasn’t meant for Richard? What if it had been meant for Paul. 

Feeling bile rising in his throat, Paul finally ripped free from the trance like state he’d been in, now bursting out of the room and running to one of the small shabby bathrooms in the building. He threw up in the grimy sink mere moments after closing the door to the bathroom. Paul tried to spit out the pungent taste in his mouth, but it was refusing to leave. He opened the tap, letting the water wash the acid down the drain. 

Paul was ripped from his thoughts by a light knock on the door. Till. 

‘’Paul? You okay?’’ 

All he could do was sigh. After wiping his mouth with the sleeve off his jacket, he opened the door. A very concerned till stood on the other side, a deep crease in his forehead. 

‘’I have a feeling Richard was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.’’ 

It was a silent ride home after Paul explained himself to Till. They both knew that it was very plausible that the assailant had been looking for Paul. But festering deep inside of Paul now, was guilt. What if he wouldn't have lent his car to Richard, would the other be alive now? 

Again, Pauls thoughts were interrupted, but this time by his phone. Fishing it out of his pocket and looking at the screen, he could tell it was a text from Schneider. 

‘’Till. Could you drop me off at Doom? Looks like he needs someone.’’ 

Till nodded, no problem. 

‘’Want me to come too?’’ 

Paul shook his head. 

‘’It’s alright. Thanks anyway.’’ 

Christoph’s house was a lot closer to where they had come from than any of Paul or Till’s, so the trip was shortened, at least for Paul. After getting dropped off outside the house, Paul went up the driveway and stepped inside. Doom had mentioned in the text just to step in. He’d be in the basement and might miss the doorbell. 

As Paul had pulled his shoes off, he went around the house, but didn’t find Christoph anywhere upstairs, so he must be in the basement then. The guitarist followed the steps down into the dark room, wondering why the drummer was sitting in darkness. It all made sense when something hard collided with Pauls head, causing him to black out. 

He was unsure of how long had passed, but eventually Paul came to. His head was throbbing with pain, and something trickled down the left side of his face. His best guess was his own blood. Then, he noticed that he was tied – no, duct taped – to a chair. Opening his eyes, slowly, he looked around slowly. He was still in Christoph’s basement. Was... Was Christoph in trouble too? What was this madness? 

Then, as if on cue, Christoph stepped into the basement. The man looked distraught, his eyes red. Before Paul had time to ask any questions, Christoph opened his mouth. 

‘’It should’ve been you in that car.’’ 

His voice was trembling, but Paul sensed now it wasn’t grief – it was anger. Then it dawned on him. Christoph killed Richard. 

Paul couldn’t help but tremble, the feeling of sickness coming back. How did it end up like this? Cold tears escaped Pauls eyes. How did it come to this? 

‘’It was supposed to be you!’’ Christoph suddenly burst out, angrily raising his hand, Paul only spotting the knife at the very last moment, before plunging it deep into Pauls left thigh. 

The shorter man doubled over as much as his restraints allowed, clenching his teeth in an attempt to not scream out loud. The pain was searing, emanating from his ruined thigh and pulsing out into his entire body. 

What he failed to notice, was that Schneider had currently frozen up, staring at something behind poor Paul. Grief and shock washed away the anger on Doom’s face and replaced it. 

Still, the late guitarist didn’t have to say anything. The look of pure and utter betrayal was painted bright on his face as he looked at the drummer – a person he’d seen as more than a friend. But that was before Christoph had labelled himself as Richards murderer. 

‘’You let him go. Now, Christoph.’’ 

Paul gasped at the voice coming from behind him. He tried to look over, catching a small glimpse of red and black before having to turn back around due to pain. 

Schneider looked ready to break. Having been so eaten up by guilt and anger of getting the wrong person – the man he loved nonetheless – had been tearing him apart. Richard now standing in his basement seemed to tear him up even worse. 

Another warning from Reesh seemed to pull Doom out of the trance, leading to him grabbing a pair of boxcutters from a nearby workbench and freeing Paul from the tape. When it was done, he sunk into a small ball on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Paul, who by this point was pretty pale from pain and blood loss, sluggishly pulled the tape off of him and let it fall to the ground. Not really thinking straight, he then pulled the knife out of his thigh, wincing at the sting of extra pain it brought. Wobbly, he tried to stand up. It worked, but only barely. The leg was now shooting extreme jolts of pain in his whole body, but he needed to get away. He was expecting his friend to snap once more at any time, whether or not Reesh was there. 

Paul was right though. Doom suddenly realized he couldn’t let this go. 

‘’Christoph, Don’t!’’ 

But Richards shout didn’t register in either of the musicians. Paul spun around only to see Doom rushing against him, and in a moment of self-preservation – he raised the knife. 

The collision was heavy, knocking them both to the floor. Paul ended up underneath the drummer. The drummer who was now going very limp on top of him. Only now did Paul realize what he’d done, and with panic in his chest, he rolled Christoph off of him, only to see his blue eyes weakly watching him. 

‘’I’m sorry.’’ 

It was the last thing Schneider managed to say before his hacking cough brought up blood into his mouth, and he finally went limp. 

Whatever had went through Paul upon hearing Richard was dead, now doubled. He’d lost two of his friends in as many days, and on top of that was all the fucking shit behind it. He cried out in anguish, just screaming his lungs out. How could fate be this cruel? 

Whatever happened next, Paul doesn’t remember. Till said Richard made sure he went to Schneider’s house, but Paul couldn’t confirm that as much as he wanted. He just knew he’d ended up in the hospital, where he currently was, and they’d patched him up. Still, he didn’t feel any sort of joy. He felt completely empty. Whenever he fell asleep, he’d see what had happened in that basement, and when he was awake, he just felt... nothing. It was all just... bad. 

Once again ripped from his thoughts, he looked up at whoever had called his name. By the foot end of his bed, stood both Richard and Schneider. Clad in their black and red stage clothes, hands intertwined. 

It took a moment for Paul to register what he was seeing, but shock was his first reaction. 

‘’There’s no need to feel sad, Paul. It's okay. We’d rather see you smile.’’ 

A small spark of something was lit in Pauls chest then and there. He felt it was still impossible to smile, but not all was lost. Maybe things would be okay after all. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very very much for reading. Leave kudos and comments if you like, they sure make my day.


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